


mendacity in august

by keptein



Series: agia & mata [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: mendacity- an instance of lying; falsehood.august- inspiring reverence of admiration; majestic.Kenma's father, the king of Agia, decides to settle their war with Mata once and for all; by marrying away his only son to the crown prince, and backstabbing the entire foreign court when the time is right.





	mendacity in august

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslylazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslylazy/gifts).



> this was done for curiouslylazy! thank you very much to tawni for looking over and for being a generally great presence.

The day starts like any other. It's grey and bleak outside Kenma’s window, a sky that threatens rain looming overhead. It certainly makes the decision to stay inside easy, although Kenma rarely does anything else. He has his private wing, with his library and his room for games, and there's nothing particularly tempting outside his little bubble of entertainment.

The world, however, has other plans. A servant finds him between the bookshelves, in an armchair that soaks up the few rays of sun shining through the window. “Your father,” she says, then pauses, and Kenma already knows what to expect. He closes his book and stands up, robes ruffling as they fall.

“Where?”

“On the balcony,” she says, bowing deeply. “Please follow me, your highness.”

She leads him out to the grand balcony overlooking their grounds. His father is waiting, sitting on a chair and looking out while three servants stand next to him.

“Kenma.”

“Father,” Kenma says, taking a seat next to him. One of the servants steps forward, offering tea and crackers, but Kenma refuses silently.

His father dismisses the servants with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been speaking to Nishiyama. We have agreed to approach Mata with a proposal… A chance to bring peace between us.”

“Peace?” Kenma echoes. His father is not a peaceful man. War is necessary, his father has told him. We fight for what’s rightfully ours, land Nishiyama has occupied.

Kenma’s father looks at him. Strict lines have carved themselves into his face, and he looks tired, and for a moment, Kenma believes that this is a man who dreams of peace. Then he speaks. “You will wed their crown prince. An offer of allegiance, and you will move to Mata. You will do this for our people.”

Kenma frowns, looking at him silently. “Very well,” he says finally.

“You will get to know their ways. I will select some knights to go with you, as well as your personal servants, and when you will tell them everything you learn.”

“...father?”

His father looks back out across the acres of land, green and yellow streaks along the horizon. “When Nishiyama suggested this,” he says, “I must admit, I thought he’d fallen to the moon. But now I see that it’s the only way to resolve our conflict. I will entrust you with a personal guard, and no harm will befall you, I promise.”

“You’re sending me away to gather information,” Kenma says slowly.

His father sighs. “Your sister would not be able to handle it,” he says wearily. “I don’t wish this upon you, but you are not very… emotional. I know you’ll be able to see this task through.”

Kenma’s jaw works for a moment. He doesn’t feel less emotional than his sister, but he is happy to take her place. Kenma’s father thinks that he is, like himself, better than emotion. Kenma has never found the energy to correct him.

“It pains me to do this,” his father says, looking at him. “But it would see an end to the suffering along the borders. It’s what’s best for our people.”

Kenma has almost never left the estate. Once, he travelled through the capital as a young boy, on a voyage with his mother. The thought of leaving home, alone, makes his hands shake. He has never met anyone from Mata, but he’s heard rumors of the royal family, that they’re unfit to lead, soft and monstrous all at once. “What makes you think Mata would agree to this?” he asks, careful to keep his voice free of criticism.

“Nishiyama assured me they would.”

In the comfort of his own mind, Kenma thinks that his father’s political advisor should have been dismissed years ago. Out loud, he hums in agreement.

“I will send an envoy in the morning,” his father says. “If you agree to this.”

“I do,” Kenma says. He has to.

His father looks almost relieved. “I’m glad,” he says. “Thank you, Kenma.”

Kenma doesn’t reply, but he tilts his head in acknowledgement. There is no more to say.

*

After a month, the king’s envoy returns. With him, he carries a signed sheet of parchment declaring that the monarch of Mata agrees to the offer of allegiance made by the kingdom of Agia.

Kenma is outside when he arrives, enjoying the finer weather from the shade of a solid oak tree. He hears the chatter of servants, because the king may have wished to keep it secret, but there are no secrets from the people who live in the woodwork. The envoy’s errand had been a heavily debated rumour, ranging from the offer of a truce to the threat of eternal war, or something altogether more sinister. _It's the prince,_ one of Kenma’s maids had whispered to the other, turned away from him and in perceived privacy. _It's got something to do with the prince._

The other maid had snorted and gently rebuked her friend - _the prince knows nothing of politics. He should be kept among his books and games where he belongs._

At the time, Kenma agreed. Now, he still agrees, but as his father steps up to disturb his shade, there is a growing inkling that the universe does not.

The servants scatter like frightened mice when the king approaches, and Kenma closes his book with a sigh, standing up and brushing methodically over his robes. “Father,” he says, head bowing respectfully.

“We have a reply,” his father says, because pleasantries are for getting what you want, and Kenma is not someone the king ever needs to sway. “Mata said yes.”

“I…” Kenma’s planned reply shrivels in his throat. He swallows. “I’m glad,” he forces out. “That’s - that’s terrific, father.”

“Indeed,” his father says. His gaze is heavy upon Kenma’s shoulders. “Nishiyama will plan a meeting for tomorrow. We will confer, and you will attend.”

“Of course,” Kenma says softly. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

His words are empty, and his father chooses not to acknowledge them, his stare enough of a rebuke for his insincerity.

“When do I leave?”

Kenma does not know how long it takes to travel to Mata. It cannot be that far, as the envoy travelled both ways within a month, but Kenma has never left the estate, and the fear of the unknown coils itself around his heart, pulling tightly. “We will discuss that tomorrow as well,” the king says.

Kenma bows, the knot in his throat still heavy and damning. “Yes, father.”

“Kenma…” His father speaks his name awkwardly, halfway between a summon and something almost paternal. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“I will make sure not to die, father,” Kenma says dryly, and his father is startled into a laugh, rusty and old.

“Of course not,” he says. “You will have Agia’s best with you.”

“Ser Bokuto?”

“If you wish,” his father says. Ser Bokuto is a young knight, boisterous and unruly - the king has no love for him, but even he cannot deny ser Bokuto’s skill in combat. He is loud and energetic, but he speaks to Kenma like an equal, and he knows how to read. Kenma deems him better than many of the other knights in the royal guard.

“I do.”

Kenma’s father sighs, exasperated with his choice, but lightly enough that Kenma stays calm. “Very well. Uranishi and I will appoint the rest of your entourage.”

“Thank you.”

A trip to Mata, and a temporary life; a time to trick and deceive, until he is able to return to Agia victorious. Kenma looks out over the landscape as the king turns his back on him, walking back to the castle. A trip to Mata, to be wed to whomever the king of Mata saw fit. In a brief moment, Kenma remembers that his father had considered proposing this to his sister, and he is furiously, fiendishly happy that it has not befallen her, and that he is able to take her place. The thought does not lessen the dread in his stomach, but it gives him a sense of purpose.

Hopefully that sense of purpose will carry him through this whole ordeal, precarious though it was. The rest will have to be made up of loyalty to his country, and that -

That, Kenma has plenty of.

*

The preparations start the following week.

_Master Kenma, which games will you bring?_

_Master Kenma, I hear they don’t read books in Mata._

_Master Kenma, are you really going?_

_What will you do if he’s as bad as they say, Master Kenma?_

“Are you scared?” It’s ser Bokuto that asks him this, the evening before they are to leave. He is speaking above his position, as he is wont to do. His tongue is sticking out of his mouth in concentration, eyes keen and intent on the game board in front of him. “I’d be scared, if I were you.”

“You’re a knight,” Kenma replies, moving his piece as soon as ser Bokuto has set his down. “Is there anything you’re afraid of?”

“Of course not,” ser Bokuto scoffs. He looks at Kenma’s move, floundering for a moment before he manages to reply. “But - Mata’s far away. We’re going to be far away from everyone.”

“Right.”

“Won’t you miss Agia?”

“I trust that I will do what I can for Agia, even if I am not in it,” Kenma replies quietly. His gaze has not lifted from the board. “Whether I will miss it or not is irrelevant.”

There is a pause, then Ser Bokuto sighs, sitting back. “You’ve beaten me again, master Kenma.”

Kenma looks up at him. Ser Bokuto is smiling, but it is sad. He will miss Agia, Kenma realises. Ser Bokuto is at once opaque and laughably transparent; he expresses his feelings with such exaggeration that spectators forget he has them. “Thank you for playing.”

“Oh, don't mind! We're bringing this to Mata, right? That means you’ll have me there to beat if you get homesick! There’s nothing more Agian than beating me in gyo.”

“I wish it were so,” Kenma says, allowing himself a smile. Ser Bokuto’s grin brightens in return, chest puffing out.

“Mata will be exciting! It's more colourful, I've heard, and the food is different. They have the coast! Do you think we'll get to see it? Or perchance go fishing?”

Kenma hums, shrugging. “We will see,” he says.

“Do you like fish?”

“I've never had it.”

“I had it when I was a kid,” ser Bokuto muses. “Brack water fish. It's not the same, apparently. We'll get to eat real sea fish soon, though! So I can compare.”

“Indeed.”

“Soon…” Ser Bokuto trails off. Quietly, Kenma begins to put the pieces back where they belong.

Even ser Bokuto seems to have run out of words when Kenma finishes. He looks up, but the knight is momentarily still, lost in thought. “I will see you tomorrow,” Kenma prompts.

“Oh! Yes, of course, master Kenma - ah, I overstayed my welcome again, didn’t I? I’m so sorry…” Ser Bokuto puts his jacket back on, smoothing down the lapels. “Tomorrow, yes. Riding. Lots of it. Good night!” He gives Kenma a final bow before rushing out the door.

Kenma exhales, eyes lingering on the gyo board for a long time.

*

There is riding. And there is a lot of it.

Kenma rides in a carriage with Shibayama, his new manservant. Shibayama is young, and nervous, but he quickly understands that Kenma prefers to pass the time in silence. The carriage has open panels, from which Kenma can see the rest of the party. It feels small, compared to the constant bustle and crowd of the castle, but Kenma knows it must not be so. There are two knights - ser Bokuto and ser Nobuyuki, whom his father appointed - with two dogged squires in tow, and a handful of servants in another carriage. Yaku, the political advisor that his father decided to send, rides with the servants. Kenma barely knows him, as he never were involved in politics in Agia, and all the assistants to his father and Nishiyama are strangers to him. There is a third carriage, loaded with supplies, delicacies and gifts for the Matan royals.

Shibayama quickly finds people more partial to conversation than Kenma. As soon as he is settled for the night, he scampers off to chatter with ser Nobuyuki’s squire, Inuoka. Kenma is happy to see that Shibayama is making friends, but it makes the evening chill feel even colder, seeing them.

For the first time in a long time, Kenma remembers that he has no friends.

_A member of the royal family has no friends, only subjects._

He watches Shibayama and Inuoka as they make each other laugh. He watcher ser Bokuto, trying to woo the maids while ser Nobuyuki reigns him in.

No one here is Kenma’s equal, and they all know it.

Faintly, Kenma thinks of Mata, and of the unknown person he is to marry. They could be equals, perchance even friends… But his father’s task leaves no room for friendships.

Kenma retreats into his carriage to sleep. He has been fine thus far, and there is no reason for that to change.

*

The journey goes slowly. Kenma has watched many ride on horseback before, and he has admired their swiftness and grace, but his first foray away from the estate is neither swift nor graceful. The carriages are slow, wheels struggling on uneven terrain, and every night, the men drink and eat and piss. Every morning, Kenma is relieved to abandon their temporary camps, yet ashamed at the sight they leave behind. Is this truly how people travel? Is this how his own people travel, how _Agians_ travel, without a shred of dignity or decency?

Occasionally, while Kenma is watching the scenery move by, he will catch glimpses of other people. They are too far from the carriage for Kenma to discern any features, and he wonders if they have any at all, or if they merely exist as peripheral mterial, to remind Kenma who he is doing this for.

As they near the border, the landscape starts to change, and Kenma is pulled out of his solipsistic musings by Shibayama, whose eye are large as saucers and presed against the glass of the carriage windows.

“Look at that,” Shibayama says softly, as if he is speaking to himself.

“What?”

At Kenma’s words, the boy startles. “Nothing, your Majesty! I apologise, I just - I’ve never been this far away from home, your Majesty, it’s… really different.”

Kenma moves his gaze to look out the window.

At Shibayama’s words, Kenma shifts his gaze to look out the window. The terrain has changed, the fields and low trees of Agia giving way to barren ground. There are no settlements that Kenma can see. Soon, they will enter the disputed lands, which Mata occupited many years ago and claimed as their own. Agia retaliated, resulting in a bloody back-and-forth that has lasted all of Kenma’s lifetime, and longer even than that.

It looks empty. Kenma feels emptier just for looking out at it, as if the barren landscape is leeching the life from its viewers. He is glad that the territory has returned to Agia, because it must have been grossly mistreated under Mata, to be left so devastated.

“We’re almost in Mata,” Shibayama says quietly beside him.

“It’s another week’s travel before we reach the palace,” Kenma replies. Shibayama bows his head as if scolded, even though all Kenma did was state fact.

He looks out the window again. Dead.

*

As they enter into Mata, towards the palace, lush forestry starts to grow around them. Couts travel ahead to tell of their arrival. Kenma firmly does not pay mind to the anxiety gnawing at his ribs, even when it threatens to burst out of his chest like some hideous disease.

The last day, nothing can keep his attention. Letters slide off the page when he tries to read, and games with Shibayama only leave him frustrated and temperamental. Outside the carriage, there is tree after tree after tree, and the canopy above shields the wagon from the sun, robbing Kenma of even the most primitive way to tell time.

It feels like this last stretch is taking longer than everything else so far put together, although Kenma rationally knows that cannot be true. He bites his fingernails to ragged stubs. His mother is not here to yell at him for such unseemly habits, after all, even though Kenma would rather have her temperate scolding than the oppressive quiet of the carriage.

Outside, there are only trees. Kenma cannot sleep nor read, and he refuses any food Shibayama offers him, certain that it would make an unwelcome return on the forest floor.

Then, as if out of a magician’s hat, they are out in the open. Although the lush forest still surrounds them, it is at a controlled distance, and in front of the party, a gleaming building begins to take form.

The Mata palace.

It is hard to discern much detail from the distorted view of the carriage window, but Kenma can see that it’s a building much lower to the grown than the Agian castle, built with rock and wood both. Agians don’t build with wood, as it can catch fire, but maybe the Mata are too stupid to realise their palace can be set ablaze by any moon fool. Nevertheless, the work is beautiful, and Kenma cannot help but admire the foreign architecture as the carriage approaches the entrance, where a crowd of people is gathered.

Shibayama steps out of the carriage first. Kenma can hear chatter, and the air smells fresher from where it’s wafting in through the open door. He has a moment to compare it to the stale air he’s been stewing in before he steps outside, shielding his eyes from the sun. Immediately, Shibayama is at his side, offering a sun hat.

“His Highness, the prince of Agia,” Yaku announces, and the crowd bows, none deeper than Kenma’s own party.

“Your Highness! Welcome to Mata.” The queen steps forward, and Kenma bows. “I hope your journey was as pleasant as possible.”

“It was,” he replies cordially. Even with the sun hat on, his neck feels burning hot. “Thank you.”

The queen smiles. “You must be hungry - please, we prepared a meal as soon as we heard when you were coming.”

Kenma’s tongue feels too big in his mouth, and the sticky heat in the air is making him nauseous. “Thank you very much.”

“In the meantime, someone will take care of your quarters. We want you to feel as good as you do at home, Prince Kenma.”

“Thank you.” He has said the same thing three times in a row, now. Were he in Agia, his father would rap him across his knuckles, but he is not in Agia, and no one punishes him as he follows the queen and her servants into the shade and then, finally, the palace.

Inside, it is cooler. There seems to be an ever present humidity to the air here in Mata, and it makes Kenma’s throat swell, struggling to swallow.

“Do you enjoy fish, Prince Kenma?” The queen asks him.

“I haven't had the pleasure, your Majesty,” Kenma replies, walking with her through room after room. The ceilings are low compared to what he is used to, and the rooms are warm in colour. Wooden panels constitute the walls, and they seem to have been treated with lacquers, rather than paint. The natural lines of the wood shine through, and Kenma wants to count them and feel the texture against his fingers.

“ - introduce it to you!”

He blinks, looking over at the queen, who has stopped in front of a large hall. There is a main table in the centre, stretching out so it almost reaches both walls, and the queen starts to walk towards the head of it. Uncertain, Kenma follows. “Right,” he says.

“Matan fish is one of our largest exports, and I dearly hope you'll find it to your taste,” she's saying. She takes a seat at the head of the table, and after a moment’s consideration, Kenma sits down on her right side. The Mata royal family is small, as he understands it, and there is little concern of usurping someone's place at the table.

“Where is his Majesty?” Kenma asks, stroking over the fine bone chopsticks beside his plate. The queen smiles, a touch embarrassed.

“He - and my son - are in a meeting. I’m so sorry, they were sure they would finish before you arrived, but they will be here soon.”

“I completely understand,” Kenma says. His back is ramrod straight and his fingers hurt with how hard he’s gripping the chopsticks.

“I’m sure Tetsurou won’t want to keep you waiting. He’s very thrilled to have been extended this offer, and I’m sure you’re excited to meet him.”

The crown prince. Kenma nods, unable to speak.

Over the years, many have commented on prince Kenma’s lack of facial expression. Some see it as an expression of condescension, while others swear that the prince is just shy. When he was a boy, maids prided themselves on making him smile, while those who could not insisted that the prince’s face had been frozen in eternal non-expression by some terrible misfortune.

Kenma had found these competitions and rumours difficult while growing up, but at the moment he feels a flare of gratitude that he doesn’t have to worry about the face he is making as the doors open and the king and his son enter the room.

For a moment, the soft chatter of the servants die down in a show of respect.

The king comes in first. He is broad-chested, tall and imposing, and with a stern expression when he first enters. His hair and beard is black, bringing harsh lines to his face. At his side is the crown prince, Kenma presumes - a man just as tall as his father, but slimmer and more open. His hair is the same colour, but he has none on his face. Instead, it's all gathered in an unruly mess on top of his head, obscuring Kenma’s view of his face.

When they approach the table, Kenma can see the prince properly. His eyes are clear, face fresh like he's just stepped out of a dewy field, and even as he sits down, Kenma has to lift his gaze to follow the prince’s.

“Tetsurou, please,” the queen says lowly, exasperated. “Your fringe.”

“Ah - sorry.” The prince reaches up, pushing his fringe behind his ear. His expression is softer without the hard cut of black in the middle.

“Prince Kenma, I'm honoured to introduce my husband, Daisuke, and my son, Tetsurou.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the king says. He smiles, which makes him look marginally less frightening, but Kenma’s returning smile is still paper-thin and uncertain. “How are you finding Mata so far?”

“It's beautiful,” Kenma says. “Thank you very much for having me.”

“Prince Kenma was just telling me he'd never had fish before.”

“Oh, wow.” The prince speaks up again, and he meets Kenma’s eyes across the table, smiling like there's some secret Kenma isn't privy to. “It's delicious, I'm sure you'll like it.”

“I hope so,” Kenma says quietly.

“You arrived just now, right?”

Kenma nods, still looking at the prince.

“How was the journey?”

“Long,” he replies after a pause. “...but worth it in order to be able to see the beauty of the great nation of Mata. I'm very glad I can help ease the conflict between our nations.”

“So am I,” the prince says. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“It was my father's idea.”

The prince’s eyebrows raise, but he keeps his unreadable smile. “I will have to give him my thanks, then. The rumours of the Agian king’s wisdom are not unfounded.”

“They are not,” Kenma replies carefully. The prince speaks in such a way that Kenma is inclined to second-guess every word out of his mouth, and he is unsure whether his father has been complimented or gravely insulted. For his own peace of mind, he assumes the former.

There is a brief moment of silence as the food is served, several smaller plates spread out along the table. Kenma is not used to this style of eating, and he waits until the king and queen have both served themselves before following suit, nimbly picking out small pieces of food from each platter to add to his own plate.

The fish looks daunting, white and glistening on the table, but Kenma precariously picks up a piece and puts it in his mouth.

“It's wonderful, isn't it?” the queen says.

“Our number one export,” the king says.

The prince says nothing, only glances at Kenma for long enough to give him a quick smile.

Kenma swallows with some difficulty. “It's delicious,” he says. His tastebuds are numb, but the texture is not unpleasant.

The rest of the dinner passes in a similar manner.

*

The evening is quiet. Kenma’s new quarters are dark, and the sensation of sleeping inside a real building is almost alien now. He cannot hear the rustle of leaves and the communication between bugs, which has been close to his ears for over a month now. The mattress is too soft to be practical, and after hours of tossing and turning, sleep finds Kenma curled up on the fluffy rug next to his bed, a blanket tossed over himself and his arms functioning as a makeshift pillow.

*

“Prince Kenma,” Shibayama says, a little panicked. “Prince Tetsurou is outside.”

Kemma looks up from his book. He's curled into an armchair in his spacious antechamber, and the tome cradled between his knees is one he has read many times. “We have to let him in, do we not?”

“I think so, my prince,” Shibayama says dutifully. There's a vague aura of fear around him, but Kenma can't tell from what. Perhaps he feels as uncomfortable as Kenma in their new surroundings, although Kenma has already seen him chatting to the Matan servants.

Kenma sighs. He closes his book and sits up straight, stretching so the bones in his back crack. “Open the door. Stay unless you are dismissed.”

Shibayama nods in understanding and goes to open the door, scurrying away when prince Tetsurou steps in.

“Prince Kenma!” he says cheerfully. “How are you today? Are you in need of anything, I can inform the servants.”

“No, thank you,” Kenma says. “I’m well. The… The mattress is very soft.”

Prince Tetsurou blinks and laughs. “Ah - I suppose it is…! I'm afraid I don't travel much, so I don't have many points of comparison.”

Kenma waits for a cue to continue the conversation, but prince Tetsurou gives none. Awkward silence hangs in the air before prince Tetsurou clears his throat and speaks again.

“I was wondering if you'd be interested in a tour of the grounds.”

Kenma inhales. He nods and puts his book away, standing up.

Prince Tetsurou notices the book and cocks his head, gesturing towards it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was disturbing you… What were you reading?”

“A novel,” Kenma says. “I've read it before.”

“What is it about?”

“Animals.” He doesn't particularly want to discuss the book. He doesn't need prince Tetsurou to give his opinions on his reading habits. “Did you say you'd show me the grounds?”

Prince Tetsurou hums, taking a moment before he steps back and replies. “Yes, if you so wish.”

“I do.” Kenma looks at Shibayama, who immediately steps up, bowing obediently. “Where is my parasol?”

“Here, my prince,” Shibayama says, stretching it out. He is very firmly not looking at prince Tetsurou. “Would you like me to carry it for you?”

Kenma pauses and then shakes his head, taking the parasol. He walks out with prince Tetsurou, Shibayama and prince Tetsurou’s own manservant following silently.

*

The palace is surrounded by greenery, but the gardens behind the palace are a well-kept, open contrast to the lush forestry that surrounds them. Prince Tetsurou strolls ahead and Kenma sometimes struggles to keep up. The flowers are in bloom, vivid reds and pinks, and Kenma wonders whether it's a royal passion, because it is all meticulously well-kept. Even so, it is not well-kept to the Agian standard: hedges have not been cut into lines, and the flowers seem free to grow where they want instead of being sectioned by species and colour. There are even trees, the path winding around gnarly old trunks. They provide shade, but at a cost - Kenma wrinkles his nose at the sight, but does not outwardly judge.

Still, prince Tetsurou somehow picks up on it, and he breaks the unfamiliar silence they've been walking in. “Is Mata like you expected?”

“I didn't have very many expectations,” Kenma replies after a moment, hands folded and voice polite. “It's healthy to encounter new cultures with an open mind.”

Prince Tetsurou snorts. Kenma cannot tell if it is because of what he said, or something else. “Right, and the Agians are famed for their open minds,” he says lightly. “Is it very different from Agia, then?”

Kenma doesn't have time to respond to his first statement, frowning at the implications. “It is… new.”

“Tell me what Agia looks like,” prince Tetsurou says. “What is the palace like?”

“It's very flame retardant,” Kenma replies. “It's… taller. I'm surprised Matan buildings are so low to the ground, considering your people are usually taller than mine.”

“Less to compensate for?” Prince Tetsurou suggests.

Kenma slows his walking pace. Ever since they met, prince Tetsurou has been making subtle and not so subtle barbs at Agia, and Kenma was unsure whether they came from a place of misguided playfulness, ignorance or hostility - but now it is clear that it is the latter. There is no reason for him to be rude, but perhaps that is just what they teach them in Mata. Kenma would not be surprised. The queen is the only one who has shown him much politeness, and Kenma has heard that Matan men are crass, foul on the battlefield and equally foul off it. “Excuse me?”

“Sometimes the earth shakes,” prince Tetsurou says smoothly. “Agian architecture has less to compensate for, because we need to reinforce our buildings and keep them low to the ground in case they're shaken.”

“...right.” Kenma’s head hurts. The heat rolls over him in waves, and his arm aches from holding up the parasol. “I've heard of Matan earthquakes.”

“They're nothing to be frightened of,” prince Tetsurou says. “Disconcerting, but you have nothing to fear.”

Kenma hums, disbelieving. He has read about the earth tearing apart underneath people's feet, about helpless people falling down great heights during such quakes. Perhaps when prince Tetsurou says he has nothing to fear, he means that Kenma has much greater things to fear in Mata than the earth falling apart under him.

Perhaps he means that Kenma should be more wary of him, but right now Kenma is tired and in pain, and prince Tetsurou’s silver tongue is too smooth for him to manoeuvre around.

Kenma does not reply, and they walk in silence for a moment, following the winding path through the royal gardens.

“Would you like me to hold this for you?” prince Tetsurou asks after a while, gesturing to Kenma’s grip around the parasol, which is shaking ever so slightly with exertion.

“No,” Kenma says shortly. He tightens his grip.

Prince Tetsurou watches him and then shrugs, gaze sliding away.

So it passes.

*

Kenma’s time in Mata is not unpleasant. He is welcomed, most of all by the queen, but also her husband; unlike prince Tetsurou, his supposed fiancée, who is still unplaceable in his approach. Kenma feels lonely, but not much more so than in Agia.

However, one sensation remains for weeks after Kenma’s arrival. The indefiniteness of this move refuses to settle in his mind, and he keeps catching himself thinking about his return to Agia, making idle lists of affairs to sort out and acquaintances to catch up with before he remembers that all of that is out of reach. He thinks of his life in Agia as if it’s merely been put on hold, but he knows it isn’t so. The wheels of time move on without him, and when he goes back - if he ever goes back, if this plan his father and Nishiyama concocted doesn’t end with the death of them all - everything will have changed.

He asks Shibayama if he misses Agia, one night when he is helping him undress. “Not really,” Shibayama replies, musing. “I like the weather here. And Hinata showed Inuoka and me where all the good berries grow!”

“Hinata…” Kenma lowers his arms. “The apprentice?”

“Yes, my prince. He’s really nice. You’d like him, I think!”

Kenma’s brow furrows. “I’ve seen him with ser Bokuto,” he says. “He seems… lively.” Excessively so, just like ser Bokuto himself; far too energetic and restless for Kenma’s taste, although he values ser Bokuto’s companionship in short periods.

“He is! But also, he’s really nice, and kind,” Shibayama says. “He’s a little like ser Bokuto’s son!”

“Great,” Kenma says dryly. “There’s two of them.” Shibayama starts laughing, loud and surprised, and Kenma watches him with a smile. He seems so at ease here in Mata, even though he left everything behind just like Kenma did. Maybe he has simpler needs than Kenma; maybe Mata suits him better.

At the same time, Kenma knows it is not so clear-cut. Shibayama seems happy; Kenma seems happy too, or so he hopes. Even with Inuoka and Hinata, there must be aspects of his life Shibayama misses. But he is a manservant, and Kenma his master. It would be inappropriate to share such aspects of his thoughts with a superior.

Kenma dismisses Shibayama and crawls into bed, feeling lost and small. He was meant to find his equal here, if nothing else, but all Mata has done is reinforced the idea that there is none. And the one who should be - who is, as prince Tetsurou is still a prince, despite his mindset - is not at all interested.

He stares out at the darkness beyond his bed, the firmness underneath him still alien.

*

“Good morning,” prince Tetsurou says, appearing out of the woodwork like an unwelcome rat, although the smile on his face is more reminiscent of a sated cat. “How did you sleep?”

“Well,” Kenma says. He’s trying to find the library. The palace must have one, as a library is one of man’s most base needs, but up until now he’d been satisfied with the books he had brought with him, and he does not remember the directions he was once told. Still, he’d rather walk by himself than be accompanied by prince Tetsurou, but prince Tetsurou is clearly not of the same mind, joining his step to Kenma’s. “... how are you, your Majesty?”

“Your Majesty. Please, there’s no need to be so formal still, is there? We are to be wed in two weeks, after all.”

Prince Tetsurou speaks of the wedding as one might speak of a slightly unfortunate, but expected to be ultimately harmless, appointment with one’s physician. Kenma cannot understand why prince Tetsurou agreed to it, but he also does not care to know. His duties are already hard enough to bear, without the sure-to-come guilt of actually getting to know prince Tetsurou.

For fear of anyone asking about his opinion, Kenma has avoided all mention of the wedding and as much responsibility of it as possible. Were it up to him, they would have wed the day he’d arrived, but the Matan people love extravagance, and this is no exception. The royal family of Agia is also attending the ceremony, perhaps so his father can watch Kenma follow through with Nishiyama’s plan with his own eyes. Agians are men of their word, after all -

Except, of course, at the altar.

“Prince Kenma?” Prince Tetsurou looks at him, head tilted in inquiry, and Kenma blinks, shaking his head. “Are you ignoring me?”

“No,” Kenma says after a pause. “My apologies. What did you say?”

“I asked what you were looking for.”

“Your library,” Kenma says.

“It’s your library too, now,” prince Tetsurou says, in a tone so oddly gentle that it must be mocking. “And we’re going the wrong way.”

Kenma stops walking reluctantly. Prince Tetsurou stops too. He turns around and begins to lead the way in the opposite direction. Kenma follows a half-step behind him, watching his back. For a strange moment, he wants to reach out and grip prince Tetsurou’s robe. Maybe as a point of grounding, or maybe because his billowing sleeves look captivating as he walks, inviting Kenma to grab hold.

Kenma shakes his head. These are silly, fleeting thoughts. Just because he feels unmoored in Mata, does not mean prince Tetsurou is anything to tether himself to.

“Here it is,” prince Tetsurou says after walking Kenma down corridor after corridor. He holds the door open for Kenma, who steps into the room warily.

Matan architecture calls for shorter ceilings than Kenma is used to, and nowhere does this feel as apparent as it does here; there are rows and rows of books, dividing the space up and making the room feel small. Were it not a friendly medium, Kenma might consider it claustrophobic, but he only feels safe surrounded by countless portals of escape.

“Akaashi!”

A man comes out from behind a bookshelf. He is almost as tall as prince Tetsurou, and with the thick, black locks characteristic of Matans. “Your Majesty,” he intones, voice so blank it's either deeply respectful or slightly mocking.

“Akaashi,” prince Tetsurou says again, grinning. He puts his hand on Kenma’s shoulder, and Kenma startles, but does not pull away. “Do you know who this is?”

“Of course,” Akaashi says, giving Kenma a bow. “Prince Kenma, it is my honour.”

Kenma bows in return, quiet. This is the librarian, he gathers, although he's very young for a studied man.

“We're looking for books. Books of fiction?” Prince Tetsurou gives Kenma a questioning glance, and he nods. “Yes, those.”

One of Akaashi’s eyebrows raises. “We certainly have those. Any further requirements?”

“You like ones with animals, right?” Prince Tetsurou asks Kenma, who blinks in surprise.

“Yes. That's not - a requirement, though, just… a preference.”

Were someone to ask Kenma to imagine this scenario just moments earlier, he would have described prince Tetsurou as naturally cocky and satisfied to have remembered Kenma’s preferences, with an element of performance to his demeanor; but right now, prince Tetsurou is drawing no additional attention to himself, gaze moving between Kenma and Akaashi. He is not the expectant image Kenma would have conjured, and the dissonance of it makes Kenma frown, looking away from prince Tetsurou’s eyes.

“There is a fable section,” Akaashi says, moving around bookshelves like trees in a forest he’s grown up in, and Kenma follows, prince Tetsurou in tow. “Are you well-versed in the written Matan, your Majesty?”

“Inappropriate,” prince Tetsurou says, but he’s content to leave it at that, and Kenma still answers.

“I am not. It’s similar, isn’t it?”

Akaashi hums. “I suppose… you should have little trouble, but I can give you some introductory literature as well, if you’d like. Your Majesty.”

As far as Kenma knows, written Matan is just a simpler version of Agian. “No, thank you,” he says finally.

“I can always help you,” prince Tetsurou offers. Kenma turns to look at him. Yet again, he expects a self-satisfied expression, but prince Tetsurou only looks calm and sympathetic.

“I know,” Kenma replies finally, words awkward in his mouth.

Akaashi gives Kenma several books, the front covers embossed in gold and silver, and Kenma thanks him. Whether Akaashi’s taste is good or not does not matter; Kenma needs books to live, and the weight of them in his hands are already calming him down. Afterwards, prince Tetsurou follows him back to his room.

“Are you merely going to sit inside and read?” prince Tetsurou inquires mildly, just as Kenma is about to dismiss him.

“Yes,” Kenma replies, guarded. “Does that not please your Majesty?”

“You could come read in the garden,” prince Tetsurou says. “It’s a beautiful day, and it’s still early yet. There are parasols… you wouldn’t have to sit in the sun.”

Kenma pauses. He thinks about what his father would want. “Very well,” he says after a moment. Prince Tetsurou grins, as if he has achieved anything at all other than making Kenma’s skin crackle in the outside heat, but Kenma pays his ways no mind. The easiest way to deal with prince Tetsurou seems to be to contend himself with never understanding him.

*

When he finally returns to his room, it is dark, and his skin is hot and tight from the sun. He has only finished a single chapter of one of Akaashi’s books, prince Tetsurou patiently guiding his finger along the lines as they read together, explaining the spelling and walking Kenma through the conventions of written dialogue.

His skin remains warm even under the cool covers, and his fingers tingle where they touched the page, gentle and reverent.

*

All too quickly, the palace busies itself around Kenma. The books Akaashi gave him are a worthy distraction, but even they are inadequate in the face of the queen, politely inquiring about Agian wedding customs.

Kenma has only attended an Agian wedding once, several years ago. The bride was dressed in blinding white, the groom in soot black. She had looked unhappy, the few times Kenma had raised his gaze from his book during the ceremony. What he remembers best is the tone of his father’s voice the next morning, saying Kenma’s insolence was unmatched in all of Agia.

The bride wanted to be there even less than him, Kenma had replied, adolescence making him foolish. Why should he pay attention to such a sad sight?

After that, Kenma had not been allowed to attend weddings, nor to represent the royal presence. Until now, here, in Mata, where he is representing the entirety of Agia.

In lieu of explaining his lack of experience with Agian wedding, Kenma encourages the queen towards Matan traditions when he can. It’s a coward’s route, but one he does not mind taking, and it gives him a few days of peace.

In the afternoon on the last day of Kenma’s solitude, prince Tetsurou knocks on his door and enters without invitation. Kenma has sent Shibayama away - some adventure with Inuoka and Hinata, the elusive squire which Kenma has yet to meet.

Kenma looks up from his book with resignation, but prince Tetsurou is not looking at him, instead pacing the length of Kenma’s antechamber.

“What is the matter?” Kenma asks after a while, when it becomes clear that prince Tetsurou will not break the silence on his own.

“This damn wedding!” prince Tetsurou snaps, throwing his hands in the air. Kenma flinches instinctively, raising his book to protect his face. Prince Tetsurou lowers his arms as soon as he notices, shoulders slumping and voice quieter when he speaks again. “I’m sorry. I’m frustrated.”

“I can tell,” Kenma replies, slowly relaxing again. “Is there a lot being asked of you?”

“Yes,” prince Tetsurou says, then “no.” Kenma silently offers up a seat beside him, and prince Tetsurou takes it, sighing. “I cannot tell.”

“Whether too much is being asked of you?” Kenma inquires. Prince Tetsurou’s gaze snaps up to meet his. “You don’t want to be wed, I assume.” He is an eligible young bachelor, after all, and more conventionally attractive than Kenma himself. Kenma is sure the women and men of Mata would leap at the possibility of keeping the prince available for even just another day.

Prince Tetsurou relaxes, scoffing and looking away. “That is not the issue. I’m more than happy doing what I can for my people, it’s just…”

He trails off. Kenma watches him, waiting for more, but nothing comes. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks finally, voice stiff. He feels guilty, now, for his concentrated effort to avoid as much responsibility as possible, though he still cannot bring himself to regret it.

Prince Tetsurou folds his hands in his lap. “I need to choose the bloom of a goatflower tomorrow, for the ceremony. Will you come with me?”

“Goatflower?” Kenma frowns. “What is that?”

“Ah… my apologies, I believe it’s known as silkbloom in Agia.”

Silkblooms - the national flower of Agia, and one of the few things Kenma had requested of the queen. Goatflower? Kenma schools his face to neutrality, although he feels indignant on the inside. _Matans;_ here he’d been beginning to entertain the idea that prince Tetsurou wasn’t the buffoon he’d been led to expect, but clearly the sayings were sayings for a reason. Like pearls before swine; like silkbloom before Matans.

“Very well,” he replies, opening his book again in clear dismissal. “Call for me tomorrow, I will accompany you.”

*

Prince Tetsurou does call for him the following morning, and Kenma does accompany him out to the fields, where some servant of the crown welcomes them. She has the decency not to call silkbloom by its Matan moniker as she shows them around the garden, and Kenma inspects the flowers carefully for signs of disrespect. He picks a single silkbloom bud for the wedding, just on the cusp of opening, and when they travel back to the palace, prince Tetsurou is quiet.

“I apologise for my conduct yesterday,” he says, just as the grounds come into view. “It was grossly inappropriate.”

Kenma looks out the window of the carriage, silent.

“Do you not wish to be wed?”

At that, Kenma turns his head to regard prince Tetsurou with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You immediately assumed that was where my issue lay,” prince Tetsurou says. “Is that a reflection of your own situation?”

Kenma frowns, gaze falling away again. “No,” he says finally, but he knows it sounds unconvincing. Like this, in this small space with only him and the prince, prince Tetsurou’s dark eyes washing away every opaque aspect of Kenma’s personality until he is but a ghost, it is impossible for him to lie.

Prince Tetsurou does not speak again.

*

When the Agians finally arrive and Kenma watches his family step out of their carriages, two feelings are summoned in him simultaneously; relief, that this will soon be over, and that the wedding will finally take place; and dread, so bitter and true that he wants to curl in on himself and be sick. The relief is conditional, curbed by the knowledge that his stay here is still indefinite, and that only makes the dread feed on itself and grow larger like some cursed ouroboros.

“Welcome to Mata!” the Matan king says, stepping forward to greet Kenma’s father and bowing deeply in respect. “May your time here be as fortuitous as the circumstances that brought you.”

“Yes,”  Kenma’s father says.

“We are humbled by your generosity,” Kenma’s mother says, head turned towards the queen.

Kaori, his sister, is the only one to acknowledge his presence. She waves at him, then bursts into tears and runs forward, embracing him tightly. Kenma’s arms come up to wrap around her, holding her close.

“Kenma,” she sobs, pressing her face into his shoulder, “I missed you, the journey here was horrible and I've missed you so much…”

Well aware that they're making a scene, Kenma pats her hair, shushing her quietly. Over Kaori’s head, he can see his mother frown, but distance has relinquished her grasp on his conscience, and he does not find it in him to feel guilty over his sister’s emotional display. This is not Agia. The lines his parents enforced there do not exist here.

Kenma may be fully at the mercy of the Matans, but this place still feels kinder than the judgment of his own blood.

His sisters quietens in his arms, and the party slowly moves into the palace, Kenma sticking by Kaori. His father gestures for his attention several times, and although Kenma knows he will suffer for it, he decides to ignore it. He will learn what his father has to say, whether he wants it or not.

*

“You’ve grown impudent in this country,” his father says. He has entered Kenma’s quarters without warning and dismissed Shibayama, who looked wide-eyed and terrified at his own proximity to the king of Agia.

Kenma doesn’t reply, but he puts his book away, staring up at him.

“It’s the Matans. Their lack of manners is toxic. You should be getting ready for the ceremony.”

“I don’t have much to prepare for,” Kenma says, which is true. “The queen and prince Tetsurou are handling the preparations.”

His father scoffs. “Even if we are on Matan soil, your wedding should still be fit for an Agian,” he says. “It’s your responsibility to assure it is.”

“Yes, father,” Kenma says tiredly. “My apologies.”

The king looks at him. Kenma remembers that moment on the balcony, where he thought he saw a glimmer of paternal love in his father’s eyes; that flame is gone now, without Kenma’s spirit to feed the fire. Or perhaps it is reserved for Kaori, which he does not begrudge her. Kenma was born a boy, with all the privileges that entails, and Kaori is more in need of their father’s protective hand. “How are you getting along with the prince?” the king asks.

“Well. He’s…” Kenma hesitates, searching for a moment. “He’s very responsible.”

“Good. Does he have any reason to suspect your motives?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way,” the king says. “Do not give him, or anyone else, reason to doubt your commitment.”

“Yes, father.”

“Are you spending the night together?”

Kenma startles, eyes wide as he looks at his father. “That’s -” _quite forward,_ he means to say, but the words die in his throat. There is no reason to voice them. “I don’t know.”

“Do not hesitate,” his father says. He barely even looks uncomfortable as he discusses the consummation of his own son’s wedding, although Kenma supposes that it is all politics to his father, Kenma’s sexuality merely another pawn to move in this gyo game against Mata.

“I won’t, father,” Kenma says.

“The fate of Agia rests on your shoulders and your performance tonight,” his father tells him. “I entrust it with you.”

“I will not disappoint you,” Kenma says. His father nods.

The king of Agia has said all he wants to say; the conversation is over. Kenma is dismissed, even though his father is the one that leaves the room.

*

_Breathe._

Kenma’s robes have been lying untouched in a chest since he first arrived in Mata, and when he opens it, he is hit by the smell of silkbloom and wet grass. Longing for home buries itself in his throat so desperately that he knows, instinctively, that he will never be free of it. In a moment, these robes will smell like tea and sun, as everything else does in Mata.

He raises the clothes to his face, inhaling deeply. He closes his eyes, obscuring the tears threatening to fall.

_Breathe._

The queen’s arrangements have culminated into a huge, tasteful display which balances both the stark lines of Agia and the colourful melting pot that is Mata.

“It’s beautiful,” Shibayama says, amazed. “You’re so lucky, your highness.”

_Breathe._

It is almost time for Kenma to show himself to the people and seal his own fate. He is unable to eat, stomach too full with dread.

_Breathe._

“Make me proud,” his father says, before he goes to take his seat. He does not touch him.

Kenma feels cold.

_Breathe._

Ser Bokuto clasps one of Kenma’s hands in both of his. They are warm and big, dwarfing Kenma’s hand. “You’re makin’ all of us really proud! Good luck!”

_Breathe._

Someone gives him the silkbloom he picked out with prince Tetsurou. It takes all his concentration not to crush it between his fingers.

_Breathe._

He cannot see prince Tetsurou. Of course. It’s bad luck. Someone makes him drink a glass of water. Apologies. He didn’t mean to ask to see the prince.

_Breathe._

His ears stop working as soon as he steps out from the parapet. His robes feel heavy. They still smell like silkbloom - or perhaps that’s the flower clutched in his hands. His father walks by his side.

_Breathe._

Prince Tetsurou looks just like the bride did. His eyes linger on Kenma’s like hers had, but Kenma is helpless, trapped in place unless he is moved forward by his father.

_Breathe._

The dread that’s been his constant companion for months is finally consuming him. The person who says, “I do,” feels like someone Kenma could be, maybe, in a novel. It does not feel like him.

_Breathe._

Prince Tetsurou stretches out his hand. Kenma takes it. The ringing in his ears won’t stop.

Finally, it is over.

*

“Time to drink all the alcohol in the world,” prince Tetsurou says as they step outside. He’s still holding Kenma’s hand. The crowds have dispersed, now, and even though everyone is still vying for their attention, Kenma follows prince Tetsurou’s lead and ignores them.

“No, thank you,” Kenma says. The idea makes him nauseous.

“Water?” prince Tetsurou asks. Kenma nods, suddenly feeling the dryness of his mouth when he swallows. “We’re going to have to dance, prince Kenma, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine,” he manages, breathing deeply. “Kenma.”

“Kenma?” prince Tetsurou repeats, before realising it was an invitation. “Ah… please call me Tetsurou as well, then.”

Kenma nods. There are servants leading them to where they will sit, where everyone can come to pay tribute and leave appropriate gifts.

“Water, and wine,” prince Tetsurou tells someone – Shibayama, Kenma sees as he lifts his head, although the young manservant is gone a moment later, lost in the crowd.

Prince Tetsurou helps Kenma up to the throne, taking a seat next to him. Kenma finally lifts his gaze properly. Prince Tetsurou looks calmer now, but whether that reflects the truth or not, Kenma cannot tell. Beyond him, there is the crowd, massive and expectant, waiting to approach. Shibayama reappears with a glass of wine and a glass of water for them each, and Kenma takes a big gulp of the water.

Prince Tetsurou nods. “We are ready to be approached, please,” he says, drinking from his own glass of wine.

What follows is several hours of accepting congratulations, gifts and blessings. Kenma is reduced to nodding his gratitude fairly early, but prince Tetsurou thanks everyone by name, even the lowliest of palace servants and commonfolk.

First are the royal families: Agia’s are dignified and reserved in their congratulations, but the Matans gush without inhibition. Even though Kenma has begun familiarising himself with their ways, it still leaves him awkward and searching for words.

After a few other nobles Kenma does not recognise, the Again knights approach the throne, a massive boar carried between them.

“Master Kenma” Ser Bokuto says, grinning broadly, while ser Nobuyuki bows. “Congratulations!”

“This is for the feast,” ser Nobuyuki starts, holding the boar forward, but ser Bokuto is quick to interrupt, eager in his excitement.

“We rose early to hunt it, Master Kenma! We’ve been tracking it for days!”

“That’s very kind,” prince Tetsurou says.

Ser Bokuto startles and turns. “Ah! Your Majesty, congratulations to you too! Take good care of our prince, will you? He’s very precious to us.”

“I will,” prince Tetsurou says with amusement, while ser Nobuyuki gapes at ser Bokuto.

“I deeply apologise for his rudeness, your Majesty,” ser Nobuyuki says quickly, as soon as he’s gathered his bearings. “Please, may we be dismissed?”

Prince Tetsurou nods, still smiling. “You may.”

Kenma watches ser Nobuyuki and ser Bokuto walk away, squabbling as they carry the boar towards the palace kitchens.

More nobles approach the throne. Kenma nods along with the words he hears, even though it all just becomes noise in the end. The palacefolk that come after buzz at the same pitch, and Kenma nods and nods and nods.

Then, Shibayama approaches with Inuoka and a ginger boy in tow, a golden pillow outstretched before them. “My prince,” he begins, looking flustered and nervous, “congratulations on your newfound union, and thank you for letting me serve you!”

“You didn’t need to bring a gift, Shibayama,” Kenma says after a moment, bemused. The pillow looks soft. On the front, a forest has been painstakingly, amateurishly embroidered, next to what Kenma assumes are meant to be the well-trimmed hedges of Agia.

“It’s from all of us!” Inuoka says when Shibayama falters. “To both of you, your Majesty! And – your Majesty!” He gives prince Tetsurou a bow.

The ginger boy, who has so far only been nodding emphatically, chimes in. “For good luck!”

“Thank you, Shibayama, Inuoka, Hinata,” prince Tetsurou says, accepting the pillows. “We appreciate your loyalty and your fealty to the throne.”

Oh – this is the Hinata that Kenma has heard so much about. He is exhausted and overwhelmed, filled with noise and sights and impressions, but even if he does not have the presence of mind to understand why, he can still tell that people are drawn to this boy that stands before him. Even though he is almost Kenma’s height, with an unassuming appearance other than his memorable hair, Kenma can still tell that there’s something extraordinary about him.

“It’s for your marital bed, to wish you luck in your – your – your endeavours!” Shibayama blurts, and then he turns a crimson red while Inuoka and Hinata laugh.

“Thank you,” Kenma says, stilted. He accepts the pillow, letting a servant place it appropriately among the received gifts. Shibayama, Inuoka and Hinata retreat, dismissed.

New wedding guests approach the throne. Kenma feels himself disappear again. Only a fraction of him remains in his body, keeping it breathing and working as it should, while the rest of him drifts up towards the sky. From a safe distance, Kenma watches himself accept gift after gift. He watches prince Tetsurou thank each person for their attendance and their congratulations.

After everyone has paid their dues, Kenma and prince Tetsurou are shuffled around like dolls by their parents. Sit here, eat here, converse with this gentleman, meet this dignitary. Kenma is dizzy, still only half-present, but there is one word he knows to smile at, to nod and agree.

Peace.

Everyone wants to talk about peace.

“It’s amazing,” one noble says. “That you’ve done it.”

“You’ve finally done it –“

“It’s happened –“

“You brought peace to Mata.”

An older woman clutches Kenma’s hands. “You are our blessing.”

But Kenma knows he is a curse.

*

Finally, the festivities die down, and Kenma and prince Tetsurou are allowed to retreat to their new chambers.

They are airy and spacious, and Kenma feels almost as if he is out in the open – especially when prince Tetsurou lays eyes on him. Kenma is fully exposed, even though he is still covered from head to toe in heavy, ceremonial robes.

After a moment of silence, prince Tetsurou sits down at the edge of the massive bed, sighing. The bedposts are solid wood and draped in red silk – to look inviting, Kenma assumes. “That was quite the ordeal.”

Kenma sits down at a chair opposite the bed, humming in agreement.

“It’s a good thing neither of us are due a repeat of it anytime soon, right?” prince Tetsurou says with a bit of a smile.

Kenma hums again, carefully regarding the cut of prince Tetsurou’s outfit. He has not had the time to appreciate its detail until now.

“Kenma?” prince Tetsurou asks. “Are you alright?”

Kenma’s eyes snap to meet his, and he clears his throat. “Quite,” he says as he comes to sit next to prince Tetsurou on the bed.

He pauses for a moment, hesitant, before he leans over to press his lips to prince Tetsurou’s, fast and firm. He almost misses, and he has not the courage nor the ability to correct his lips when they land, only slightly overlapping prince Tetsurou’s. Kenma stays there for a moment, unsure and frozen in place until prince Tetsurou’s hands come up to clasp his shoulders, gently pushing him away.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma says, quiet and miserable. “I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s alright,” prince Tetsurou says. When Kenma raises his eyes to meet his, they are – like everything about him – unreadable.

“I am a quick study, however,” Kenma hastens to add, still unable to raise his voice beyond a murmur. “Would you like to…?”

Prince Tetsurou takes a deep breath, sitting back. While he speaks, he is tracing the motif of the bedsheets with a finger, gaze fastened on the romantic silhouettes. “Actually…” He clears his throat. “I know it is unorthodox, but I would prefer it if we… waited.”

“Waited?” Kenma croaks. His throat is dry as desert sand, and just as painful.

“Yes,” prince Tetsurou says, more determined this time. “Today has been very long, and I’d rather we waited until we were both… able.”

Able? Kenma’s eyes automatically dart to prince Tetsurou’s crotch – the prince does not miss it, looking away with an embarrassed flush. “I see,” Kenma says slowly.

“I hope that is acceptable,” prince Tetsurou says, still looking away.

Kenma finally realises that it is up to him to respond. “Yes – of course,” he says at last. “We will wait until we both are… able.”

Prince Tetsurou sighs, relieved. “Excellent.” He stands up and starts to get undressed, back turned to Kenma.

Kenma watches him in silence before untying his own robes, looking down at the floor. He hears, rather than sees, the shifting of covers as prince Tetsurou gets into bed, and Kenma follows suit.

It’s quiet, the night casting long shadows over the room. He can barely see the ceiling through the dark, but he is vividly aware that it exists, cutting him off from the rest of the world. He is tired, but the emptiness behind his eyes is too terrifying to face.

Kenma listens to prince Tetsurou breathing next to him. He knows that prince Tetsurou is not asleep, can tell by the measured movements that he occasionally makes. Equally, prince Tetsurou must know that Kenma is still awake, staring up at the endless ceiling.

Kenma thought it was over, but maybe this has all just been the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://tivruskis.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tivruskis), both as tivruskis. (i mostly post/tweet about bokuto, be warned.)


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